Striking Out

If you don’t know by now, you’ll soon figure it out: Hollywood writers are going on strike. I’m interested in this for a few reasons, none of them sensical, and not least of which is the temptation to join them–out of solidarity, of course–and call it quits on NaNoWriMo.

First of all, this means that starting tomorrow, all the minds behind the best entertainment are going to be concentrated along LA picket lines, exposed to the world. Screw actors. The people I want to rub elbows with are the nerds in the writers’ room. Only now they aren’t going to be in the writers’ room; they’ll be on a public sidewalk. If I were near LA, I’d join them, just to hang out. The prospect would probably be even more appealing if I actually watched TV.

I’d like to work in TV. Whenever I’ve written or conceptualized stories in the past, it’s always been with an eye to production–how they would look, rather than how they read or sound. But the mere idea of trying to break into that industry paralyzes me. I can hardly get past the doubts that come with applying for a demeaning job at a throwaway company in San Francisco. How am I supposed to deal with cutthroat Hollywood types?